


Another Gog-Damn Spider Man Origin Story

by variableIntroversion



Series: Marvelstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck, Marvel
Genre: Blood, Canon Typical Violence, Crossover, Dirk is Spidey because I said so, Gen, Gun Violence, Spider Man (sorta), gun mention, it's just a "random old dude" death scene and a traumatized Dirk!, no this isn't another fucking Uncle Ben death scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 17:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21058484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/variableIntroversion/pseuds/variableIntroversion
Summary: Dirk has been developing some strange powers lately. He isn't sure what to do with them, really. Not until he watches someone die.





	Another Gog-Damn Spider Man Origin Story

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing started as such a small train of thought, and now I have nineteen fics to write with creative room to spare 8l

Dirk thought it was a mutation at first. It wouldn't be surprising. Half of his family were mutants, after all. Super strength wasn't that far out there. He would have preferred something with more finesse, like Bro's super speed, but there were uses to strength that he could get behind.

The...intuition wasn't so easily explained away. It was on the opposite side of the spectrum of mutations from his strength. Very unlikely that both would develop, especially with no stressors or specific triggers. Dirk decided his alertness after all of Bro's sneak attacks and training had dialed up to twelve and wrote it off.

He wasn't sure what to blame his heightened senses on. His eyes had always been sensitive to light, but not to this extent, and he had never been able to read small script from across the room before. Or hear a literal pin drop when Bro was sewing. It was...overwhelming. An almost constant sensory overload that Google didn't have any answers for. Overwhelming, and frustratingly unreasonable. Dirk grit his teeth through it and silently learned to cope. Ear buds became his new best friend.

Sticking to walls was where he crossed the line. That was one oddity too many to write off, and Dirk reluctantly turned his thoughts towards the one explanation he'd been avoiding. He'd told himself it was paranoia at the time. The tour through the bio-engineering lab had just passed through the arachnids section, and he thought his mind was simply lingering on the topic. Clearly he'd just scraped his arm against the metal corner of one lab table, right? No need to make a fuss.

Except now he could stick to walls, and it was maybe time to consider making a fuss.

Or just take a walk. The fact that it was ten at night didn't have to matter if Dirk didn't let it matter. He was a little too preoccupied with his own thoughts to let it matter anyways. Wandering aimlessly around New York after dark maybe wasn't entirely advisable, but really? What random mugger was going to actually threaten him when he was...whatever he was.

What was he now? An artificial mutant? A very unexpected science project? Miracle or freak of science? Moving out of that shady looking stranger's way? All of the above?

He'd take answer F for three hundred, thanks.

Some older man rushed past Dirk a few moments later, shouting about something that he automatically tuned out. He'd been getting better with ignoring all the rabble lately. Concentrating on staying in his own head and blocking out all of the excess.

That didn't mean he could block out the deafening crack of a gunshot.

Dirk's heart leapt into his throat and he full-body flinched. He was spinning on his heel less than a second later, staring wide-eyed at the scene that had already unfolded. The shady looking guy he'd moved out of the way of was running down the street, gun glinting in one hand. The old man was...not running. Holy shit. Holy shit, he was definitely not running.

The world didn't move in slow mo, but the man still collapsed slowly. Nothing like the movies where someone would go flying back with the force of the bullet, or drop like a sack of potatoes. It was like watching someone with serious arthritis trying to sit down and- and he did drop. Fuck.

Dirk didn't process rushing to the man's side. He barely felt his own body moving as he pressed his hands over the bullet wound. And then he felt hot blood rushing between his fingertips, and the world snapped back into focus.

"Call an ambulance!" He barked, looking around wildly for someone, anyone who could help. There were a few late night stragglers that had gravitated towards the disturbance, and a couple hands shot for pockets when Dirk repeated himself with twice as much heat.

He could feel the old man's heartbeat slowing down. It was surreal, and horrifying, and terrifying all at once. Dirk pressed harder on the wound, as if that could somehow prevent death's inevitability. The old man let out a frail gasp and groan to answer the pain, but that was it. His eyes were starting to glaze and his breaths were becoming dangerously weak.

Dirk's thoughts raced through everything he could do, and the list was frustratingly short. CPR couldn't fix this, and he couldn't perform it when the guy was bleeding out. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't _do_ anything, and this person was dying right in front of him. He couldn't save him. He should be able to do _something_ but he couldn't. All he could do was sit there and feel the last wavering exhale, the last few thrums of the stranger's heart.

He felt a man die in his hands, and he wanted to puke.

He didn't puke.

The ambulance arrived along with police. There were questions - many, all serious and every one reminding Dirk that he just watched someone die. He was distantly aware of the fact that he was probably in shock. He answered their questions. He let the paramedics clean the blood off his hands. He hugged the blanket they put over his shoulders closer to his body.

His hands shook - or were they perfectly steady? - when he pulled out his own phone to text Bro. He didn't indulge in the usual back-and-forth that tended to fill their conversations, he just numbly cut straight to the point and explained what happened in as few words as possible. His hands were shaking after all, he realized, when he misspelled the street name three times in a row before finally getting it right.

Bro promised fifteen minutes. Dirk could never say whether it actually took that long, or if it was a blink, or if it was an eternity until his brother pulled up in his inconspicuous old pickup. The vehicle barely stopped moving before Dave was jumping out of the back and running over to his twin.

Dirk shuddered at the warmth he felt under his hands when he finally reminded himself to return the hug he was pulled into. He rubbed at the fabric until he convinced his brain that it was dry. There was no blood. Dave was breathing just fine. His heartbeat was strong and freakishly rhythmic as always, it wasn't fluttering like a dying bird, it wasn't going to vanish.

"C'mon, we're goin' home." Bro's voice appeared to Dirk's left with next to no warning. He startled by a fraction and utterly failed to be embarrassed by it. Bro didn't seem to pay it any mind. He just wrapped an arm around his little brother's shoulders and began guiding him back towards the truck.

Dave flanked his twin's other side, rubbing circles against his back and murmuring quiet, pretty little reassurances that Dirk was safe, he was alright, it was okay.

The first was obvious. The second, Dirk thought, was debatable. The last, however, was a blatant lie. It wasn't okay. This wasn't okay. Nothing about that was okay, because a man died right in front of him and he couldn't _do_ anything. He should have done something. Anything. There had to have been something that he could do.

City lights flickered through the truck's windows. The engine rumbled quietly, blending with Dave's soothing voice. Dirk stared at the back of the passenger seat and let the world wash over him as he thought.

He hadn't been able to do anything. He should have done something. He could have done something. However he got these strange powers of his, he could have used them. He will use them. Next time, he will use them.

Next time, he'll do something.


End file.
